


heartbreaking renegade

by miyuseway



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Childhood Friends, Gen, Prerelease, also fraldarddyd but it appears for 0.3 seconds AND its one sided so dont read this for content lol, ferdinand is a bit mean but its for good reason, minor sylvbern and manubyl, some post publication edits bc the formatting was messed up at some parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 07:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19719139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miyuseway/pseuds/miyuseway
Summary: The war begins. Sylvain chooses a side. His friends choose theirs.(There are some things you remember, and some things that you don't.)





	heartbreaking renegade

**Author's Note:**

> tw for death + emetophobia at one point

The first thing that Sylvain thinks isn’t if what he’s doing is actually a good idea, or if the Empress is really going to trust him enough to take him in. Instead, it’s that he doesn’t know what to pack.

Obviously, when he enrolled to go to school at the Garreg Mach Monastery, he packed his own luggage. He’s not that much of a snob to leave it all to the maids. It’s different this time, though. Back then, he knew he was coming back eventually. Now, five years later, he is certain that this is the last time he will ever see his home again.

He mulls it over, and comes to the decision of packing the bare minimum. There are a lot of old things that he’d like to take with him: paintings of his family that span generations, old keepsakes from the past, memories of his brother. But it’s ridiculous to think that he can pack so much in so little time, and he’s in a hurry. Sylvain doesn’t know if any of the others have caught on yet, if Dimitri and his soldiers are about to knock on the door at this very second. He has to flee to Adrestia, and he has to do it now.

He’s on his way out when he sees something fall out of one of his bags. He picks it up. It’s an old picture with a crooked and ugly frame, something that was crudely sketched out a long time ago. It shouldn’t mean anything to him anymore. He should just burn it, rip it to pieces, or throw it away.

He shoves it in his pocket, and keeps moving. And, later, when his pleas are answered favorably and the Empress is showing him to his room, she doesn’t make a comment when he places the picture on the bedside table.

* * *

It’s unfortunate that out of any job that they could have given him, they decide to make Sylvain a part of the battalion fighting to wrestle control of a main choke point in Faerghus.

He understands why he’s here; the terrain is suitable for cavalry, and he knows the country like the back of his hand. But despite all his planning for the inevitable (he knew this would happen one day, he always knew), he can’t help the constricting feeling in his chest when he makes a turn and looks to see an old friend staring back at him.

Felix looks the same, yet different. His hair is still long and pulled up, and he has swords attached to his side. His eyes have stayed that fiery, amber color, but he looks more tired now, determination and hot headedness being evened out by the pronounced eye bags on his face. His shoulders are set in a rigid manner and he is standing with a graceful authority that Sylvain has never seen in him before. It’s uncanny, and it reminds Sylvain that he isn’t the only one that has changed. He wonders if Felix is evaluating him in the same way, too.

In any case, he knows that he _has_ to win this battle and help the others take the choke point, but… “Please, I don’t want to fight. Just leave while you still can, Felix. I--I don’t want to hurt you.”

Felix’s gaze immediately hardens and he takes a couple steps back. Somehow, the cracks between them deepen with these few movements. “I would rather die,” he snarls, “than run away like a coward with his fucking tail between his legs.”

The acidity and venom in Felix’s voice is concentrated and designed to hurt, his words pointed enough that Sylvain knows he’s not just talking about a person running away from a single battle. _You are weak for running away from Faerghus when it needed you._ It is an unsaid statement that hangs in the air, and it’s funny how Felix seems to think that Sylvain has never grasped the full consequences of his actions, like Sylvain is still a lazy student obsessed with getting a date and not a defected soldier that couldn’t bear being a part of his home country’s wrongdoings any longer.

The sound of a sword being drawn. The galloping of a horse. Their friendship finally splintering into something really, truly unmendable.

Felix seems to be keenly aware of Sylvain’s weaker points. Everything that Sylvain has once complained about is being thrown back to his face with a wild intensity. He favors his right side. He has trouble connecting his attacks when the enemy is rushing towards him. He shouldn’t be calling it dirty tactics when Felix is just using what he remembers from their years of sparring together; besides, whenever Felix asked if they could train, Sylvain always said yes, so perhaps it’s his own fault that the other has the ability to gain the upper hand so easily. But can he really criticize his past self for spending time with a childhood friend? How could he have guessed that at some point, they would have to truly fight against each other, with the intent to kill? 

He doesn’t know if he wants to think about the philosophical parts of his past any longer, but what he does know is that Felix isn’t the only one who has remembered little details from their time together. His former friend is fast, but he has always relied on it too much. Back when they were still at school, once someone got a couple of good hits on him, it wasn’t unexpected to see him limping begrudgingly to the infirmary. 

The fight ends in a blur and it’s made clear that Felix has never learned from his mistakes. 

He falls as one of Sylvain’s javelins lodges itself deep in his back, and Sylvain watches as faint breaths shudder in and out of him. Felix’s hands shake and grasp at the bloodied dirt, and it’s almost pitiful to see that he is still struggling and trying to speak. For a second, Sylvain lets himself believe that Felix is trying to get the last word in, a scathing remark directed towards him and his betrayal. Instead, Felix brokenly whispers out a name and, seemingly exhausted from the effort, finally allows himself to exhale for the last time. Sylvain knows better than to believe that his last words were only in the context of a soldier willing to lay down his life for his leader. Even when Felix was hanging on to his last thread of life, he was longing for something that he didn’t allow himself to have, and having that knowledge is going to haunt Sylvain more than anything else he could have said.

Sylvain dismounts from his horse, gravel and dirt crunching underneath his feet. As he comes face to face with Felix, he crouches down, and even though that familiar, metallic stench is wafting through the air and is beginning to nauseate him, he finds enough strength in himself to at least close Felix’s eyes. It’s an olive branch that has been extended far too late, but there is not much else he can do for a dead man. Sylvain can feel nothing but a grim sort of acceptance.

He quickly stands up as he hears someone call for assistance, and moves to reunite with the rest of his group. He doesn’t bother himself with getting his javelin back.

* * *

_“I still can’t believe you’re a Black Eagle now.”_

_“Me neither. But after what happened with… well, it seems like a good idea for me, you know?”_

_“Yeah. I guess.”_

_“… Wait, Felix, are you… actually sad that I--”_

_“Wh--I’m not! Shut up! Where did you even get that from?! Gods. Shut up. You’re ridiculous, Sylvain.”_

_“Okay, well. If, hypothetically, you were upset, then I’d tell you that it doesn’t matter where I am, or what I’m doing, because you’re still one of my closest friends, and I can’t think of anything that would change that.”_

_“… Thanks. I appreciate it. I mean, you know. In the hypothetical sense.”_

_“Anytime! Let’s get back to training, alright? I’m sure you’ve had enough of all this mushy stuff, no matter how hypothetical it is...”_

* * *

A few weeks later, Sylvain is rummaging for more weapons in the barracks when he hears something crash a couple crates over, immediately followed by a yelp and a sigh.

When he looks up, he sees a flustered Bernadetta hurrying to put back a giant shield and a helmet back on a shelf, while Ferdinand is doing… absolutely nothing at all.

Sylvain waves at them, trying to catch their attention. “Hey!”

“Oh!” Bernadetta turns around, and her elbow hits Ferdinand in the abdomen. She sends him an apologetic look to counter his glare. “Sylvain!”

“What are you guys doing here? I thought you two were stationed in Aegir.”

She smiles nervously, looking down at the helmet in her hands. “Edel--um, the Empress asked us to report back here because she needed more capable soldiers by the borders of Adrestia, so… h-here we are.”

“Well, I’m glad to see some familiar faces. It gets boring sometimes.” The more appropriate adjective would be _lonely_ , but perhaps that’s a little too much for small talk.

Bernadetta opens her mouth to reply, but Ferdinand interrupts her with a groan. “Come on. Let’s get going.”

“Are you…” Sylvain hesitates. Even when he talked to Ferdinand back when they were teenagers in the Officer’s Academy, he was always frigid, only speaking to him when he wanted to boast or complain. “Are you okay, Ferdinand?”

He seems surprised that Sylvain is even addressing him. “Let me make one thing clear,” he snaps, crossing his arms. “I don’t trust you. I don’t know what the Empress was thinking, letting you defect to our army. It was a dangerous move, and it worries me.”

He can’t be serious. Gods, Sylvain shouldn’t have even asked. “So I guess my time in the Black Eagles meant nothing to you, then?” he laughs. It’s fake and empty. 

“In comparison to the years you’ve spent with Prince Dimitri, it’s logical to assume that you have your hidden agendas. Or are you trying to say that you have no real sense of loyalty?”

Bernadetta gasps. “F-Ferdinand, that’s--!”

Ferdinand doesn’t know how much of a low blow it is. He can’t possibly know the amount of time Sylvain has spent debating with himself if this was truly a good idea, if he’s in the right for betraying his friends in favor of his own morals. Even now, he finds himself wishing that he could go back to the past and somehow find a way to prevent this war from ever happening in the first place. But it stings and hurts, and Ferdinand’s taunts are causing a hot anger to suddenly burn inside of Sylvain. If another word comes out of his mouth, Sylvain doesn’t know if he can restrain himself.

He begins to walk to the entrance of the room, and slowly opens the door. It creaks. “Please get out.”

“You’re just proving my poi--”

Sylvain abruptly slams it open, and it hits the wall with a loud bang. Somewhere else in the room, a weapon clatters to the ground, but he doesn’t care. “I said, _get out_!”

As Bernadetta mutters apology after apology, Ferdinand scoffs and leaves with a frown. But as he turns the corner, Sylvain can see that his eyes are glinting with a certain smugness. 

* * *

Adrestia has a strange, morbid interest in public executions.

It’s something that Sylvain found out after his first week with his new team, a shocking piece of information that he dealt with firsthand when Caspar showed him around. When they made their way to the square of the capital, where most if not all public events took place, they arrived just in time to see the death of a prisoner of war. Although Caspar strongly expressed his own personal distaste in the events and made an effort to try and leave the area as soon as possible, Sylvain still noticed that his eyes lingered in the direction of the executioner’s axe for what he believed was a moment too long.

Like the hot summers and mild winters, he has gotten used to it. At first, he tried to take the long way around to get to places, but at some point, a person becomes very, very tired of this roundabout way of travelling. Now, Sylvain passes through the central square with a stoic expression and a fast paced walk.

Today, he’s hanging around at one of the markets, finally taking a brief respite from all his duties. It’s strange to watch the citizens be so lively and loud when he knows it’s lined with a restlessness that stems from the war. He doesn’t mind, though; they’re just trying to channel some optimism, and it would be unfair to try and fault them for that.

His attention is caught by a short little man struggling to get on top of a wooden crate. It’s an awkward experience; the poor thing can’t get his balance quite right. Finally, he lifts himself up, and as he catches his breath, he shouts:

“Everyone! Today, at the central square, we implore you to please bear witness to the execution of Ingrid Brandol Galatea, high ranking commander of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus!”

What? No. That can’t be happening. Sylvain must have misheard… 

… Except he didn’t, and the man repeats himself, louder this time. Those few sentences manage to make Sylvain’s blood run cold. When was she captured? Why is this the first time he has heard of her presence in Adrestia? Was he purposely kept in the dark because of his connections with her? Questions run through his mind, but a single, glaring statement stands out among the whirlwind of chaos that he is feeling:

He has to see her.

It’s a wild rush as he moves through the market, and he leads himself there through the hordes of other people that heard the man talking and are trying to get to the same place. Sylvain knows that their reasons for going are less than savory, but he doesn’t think that he has any good reason to go, either. It’s all based on impulse, a gut feeling. Maybe a part of him thinks that there’s closure to be found in her execution. Maybe it’s his subconscious trying to punish him by making him watch another one of his childhood friends die.

He manages to make his way to the front, trying to get as close as he can to her. She stands at the execution block, staring at everyone with an icy gaze and a seemingly unwavering resolve that succeeds in angering the public. But Sylvain knows where to look, and as the executioner forces her to sit down by grabbing at her blonde hair (oh, it’s short now, it really has been a while, hasn’t it), he sees Ingrid’s cold exterior crack as her hands bunch up into trembling fists. 

She looks up, one last time, and somehow, in a weird twist of fate, she manages to find him. They look at each other, and suddenly Sylvain is reminded of when he found Felix at the choke point, but now it’s Ingrid and her eyes are green, like the pine tree forests that they all ran around in when they were still naive kids that believed in the sanctity of pinky promises, that thought that forever really meant forever. He knows that he has to commit her to his memory, but it’s too hard to process that she’s going to be gone in the next few seconds. And would he rather remember her as she is now, threatened by the Adrestian Empire, or would it be better to only think of when they were happy and innocent all those years ago?

For a brief moment, he’s snapped out of his thoughts when Ingrid smiles at him, sadly. It’s unwarranted, and he doesn’t understand it; he can’t tell if it’s a sign of forgiveness, or if she’s bitter that the last person that she is ever going to see is him, the traitor. He doesn’t know. He won’t ever know.

Sylvain tries to smile back. It’s an empty attempt at comforting her.

As she starts to put her head down on the block, she yells, “For Faerghus!” The crowd boos her for her loyalty, so the executioner brings his axe up high, and--

Sylvain turns away, unable to watch despite the judging eyes of some Adrestian soldiers, despite his subconscious calling him a coward. Still, there’s no way that he can stop himself from hearing that sickening, awful thump, which is immediately followed by everyone dissolving into mindless cheering. He stumbles away in a haze, pushing through the feral crowd that is so desperate and excited for bloodshed that they look as if they had just watched a performance at the theater instead of the execution of a person, a soldier, his _friend_.

Sylvain gains back some level of consciousness by the time he reaches an abandoned alleyway. It’s disgusting to say, but he throws up, shaking and heaving and having to steady himself using the wall to prevent himself from falling over. He thinks, for a moment, that he’s finally going to cry, finally going to feel something other than the vague numbness that has been plaguing him ever since his brother died, but nothing else comes out. 

As people start to head back from the central square, he gives himself a second to regain his bearings. And when he walks out with a casual smile on his face, it’s almost like nothing had happened at all.

* * *

_“Hey, this is yours, right?”_

_“Whoa, thanks, Ing! I was starting to freak out. I usually have it in my pocket, and I couldn’t find it there today.”_ _  
_

_“I found it by the main hall, so maybe you dropped it? Whatever happened, you should be more careful. There are only four of these in existence, you know.”_

_“Yeah, of course I will! Seriously, I’ve had that photo of us since forever. I don’t know what I would do without it.”_ _  
_

_"Me neither. I love looking back on it too much to lose it. We were all so tiny back then! And I know he hates when we comment on it, but Felix just looks so strange with short hair.”_

_“He’d kill us if he heard us talking about it again, but yeah, I agree. It’s just weird looking. He kinda looks like one of our professors.”_ _  
_

_“Well, in any case, here’s to more memories together, right?”_

_“Right!”_

* * *

“Hey, Bern,” Sylvain says, sitting down next to her. She looks up. “Thanks for looking out for me today. I wouldn’t have seen that soldier coming if you didn’t shout at me.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it! I just didn’t want you to get, er, impaled.”

Sylvain snorts. “Yeah, that would be pretty bad. Seems like this kind of thing would be basic human decency, but… people surprise you, I guess.”

“Is Ferdinand still being awful to you? I can talk to him if it’s a problem…”

He knows she’s not trying to sound like she’s pitying him, but Gods, this is too much. What is he? A child?

“I appreciate the offer, but I can handle him by myself. He’s just a little rough around the edges, you know? And, honestly…” Sylvain hesitates. “It’s not just him being an asshole. You’d have to talk to a lot of the soldiers here. Not sure if you’re up for that.”

Like everyone else, Bernadetta has certainly changed over the past five years. It’s strange to hear her actually speaking out loud and being able to converse with strangers, and he remembers how shy she was in school. Byleth had to drag her out of her room everyday so she could at least be present for attendance. Even if Byleth was successful, Bernadetta always found a way to stay in the shadows. She’s changed, now, but everyone still has their limits, and sometimes he can see her breaking point, a moment where she begins to burn out from all of the socializing.

“You can’t be serious! There are people who still doubt you? But you’ve done so much for us already.”

“Ah, well. What can you do?” He assumed that his loyalty would be proven by now, especially considering what he has done over the past few months, but apparently killing soldiers from his home country isn’t enough for some Adrestians. “I’ve learned not to care anymore. Honestly, I’m surprised that you’ve been treating me so well since the beginning.”

She laughs nervously, the tips of her ears starting to turn pink. Sylvain raises his eyebrows in concern.

“This might be a little out-of-the-blue,” she says, breaking eye contact. She scratches the back of her neck. “But I… I have always been fond of you, Sylvain.”

Oh.

The intimacy of her words aren’t lost on him, and he can’t say that he’s exactly surprised. Now that he thinks about it, lately, she’s always been watching out for him, making sure he was okay… and to be honest, he’s been wanting to help her in the same way, too.

If she had expressed this sort of interest in him during their time at the Officer’s Academy, there is no doubt that he would have latched onto her like a parasite. But now, as it stands, he’s scared to want more. It isn’t logical for him to think of love and romance again when the continent is tearing apart at the seams. Besides, he’s not sure that he deserves to have these sorts of things anymore, that he deserves to be happy when there are so many people that are miserable because of the war.

“Bernadetta, I really appreciate it, but…” her face falls, and Sylvain rushes to explain, “I just--with the war, and everything, really, I--it’s not like I don’t want to try, but I… I have a lot of things that I need to come to terms with first before I can start anything with anyone. I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “No, I get it. Now that I think about it, I don’t think this is a good time either! I just wanted to get it off my chest, so,” she says, making a move to grab her bow and arrows. “I-I should get going. I’ll see you around.”

It’s upsetting to let something like this slip by, and it’s almost like he’s killing a sapling before it has the chance to grow. But he has to do it.

… He _has_ to? Like he _had_ to go and see how Ingrid was executed in front of the general public? Like he _had_ to kill Felix because he needed to get a piece of Faerghus’ territory? Like he _had_ to watch as his brother was disowned from the family?

As Bernadetta stands up, he does too, and he grabs one of her hands. She looks up at him, wide-eyed, face flushing again.

“After the war,” he tells her. Ironically, the situation makes him feel tongue-tied and severely out of his element. “After the war, if we’re both still alive and the continent isn’t in ruins, I’ll come find you.”

Bernadetta begins to smile, and this time, it reaches her eyes. “I’ll be waiting.”

* * *

He never sees Dimitri die.

He has to find out about it when Byleth calls him to her office, and he is struck with the feeling of deja vu; it’s almost like he’s a teenager again, about to get his third detention for being a disruption in class. In reality, Sylvain knows that the news he’s getting is going to be far worse, but he’s allowed to imagine the better days, right?

He knocks on her door once, twice. It swings open, and Byleth appears, her greenish white hair tied up into a ponytail. In the back, he can see Manuela sipping a cup of tea and reading a book.

“Hey, come in! The lovely Manuela is here, too, if you don’t mind,” Byleth shoots a cheesy smile and a wink at Manuela. In return, she throws the book at her, causing Byleth to yelp. Sylvain snorts--some things never change, he supposes. When Byleth turns back to him, her smile becomes… wary. “Actually, she has something to give you.”

“You can just tell me what’s wrong,” he cuts in. Byleth blinks in surprise, and he scratches his neck sheepishly. “Sorry. I just--I know you didn’t call me here for tea. What is it? What happened?”

Manuela clears her throat, and looks pointedly at the chair next to her. “You might want to sit down for this.” 

Byleth pushes him towards it. As he sits down, she starts pacing around the room, mumbling. “Gods, I don’t--I don’t know how to say this.”

She finally stops when Manuela reaches out and grabs her hand. They look at each other for a moment, and Byleth takes a deep breath. “Sylvain, Dimitri died today. Edelgard killed him in battle.”

“Oh,” Sylvain says. “Okay.”

A silence. The two share another look, again. He glances down at the table.

He knows they were expecting more of a reaction from him, but… he’s not surprised. He knew it was going to happen eventually. It was a power struggle between the three countries, and it’s not like they could all go out of the war unscathed. So why should he feel upset? He especially shouldn’t be emoting for someone that he detached himself from willingly.

“Sylvain?”

He looks back up. Manuela places a yellowed, folded up piece of paper in his hands. “We also found this. He was carrying it with him, and… Byleth and I talked about it. We thought that it was only right to give it to you.”

He knows what it is before he even opens it up. It’s them. Sylvain, Dimitri, Felix, Ingrid. The quartet. They looked so happy back then, with their wide grins and curious eyes. He didn’t know that Dimitri still kept it on his person. He didn’t even think that Dimitri would still have it at all, after everything that has happened. 

Manuela lightly touches his shoulder. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re crying.”

“What?” Sylvain wipes a sleeve across his face. It feels damp. “Oh, wow, I didn’t--I didn’t know, that I was--that I’m--”

Suddenly, a strangled sound crawls its way out of his throat, and he quickly covers his mouth with a hand. He can faintly register the feeling of a person trying to steady him, but he doesn’t know if it’s Manuela or Byleth. This is too much. This is too overwhelming. The picture feels like a catalyst, like something that’s unlocked a part of him that he’s been keeping under wraps so well.

And now he’s trying to find something that will give him some closure or peace, but it’s a struggle to think of the way they all used to talk, how they all carried themselves. He can’t even remember the hue of their eyes. Felix’s eyes were a warmer, orange color, he knows that, but were they closer to yellow or red? Ingrid’s eyes, they were… brown? No, that’s not right at all. And Dimitri…

Gods, why can’t he remember what those colors were? Why are they already fading away from his memory?

“Sorry,” Sylvain finally croaks out, voice scratchy. He presses his palms to his eyes. It’s a feeble attempt at stopping the tears.

“Hey, now.” Fingers wrap around his hands and lower them gently. He looks up to see Byleth. “It’s okay, Sylvain. It’s okay. You can let yourself be upset. You can cry.”

He laughs, because the situation is so, so strange--he’s freaking out because of a stupid picture, and his professor from five years ago is trying to comfort him. But it soon dissolves into a pitiful sob, and it’s almost as if there’s something clawing in on his chest, and it keeps pushing down, hungry for more, and he can’t stop crying, can’t speak, can’t even catch his breath. For the first time in a very long time, it hurts.

He doesn’t notice, but today, the sky is shining. It’s a brilliant blue.

* * *

_“So you’re not mad that I want to leave?”_

_“Well, it does make me sad to see you go.”_

_“I mean, if you really want me to stay, then I’ll--”_

_“But I don’t want to stunt your personal growth either, Sylvain. I understand where you’re coming from. I’ll even help you out with the forms, too, if you need the assistance.”_

_“Oh. Well, I’m glad that you’re okay with it, but… I don’t know if I want to leave you three alone, I guess. I’m worried.”_

_“Again, I promise that we’ll be fine. Honestly, I didn’t realize you cared about us this much! It’s very touching.”_

_“Haha, very funny. Of course you find a way to make this emotional.”_

_“... Is there anything else you’re worried about? You still look troubled.”_

_“... I was expecting you to say no. Or tell me that this was a bad idea. And then that would have been the end of it, and by tomorrow, everything would have gone back to normal.”_ _  
_

_“Sylvain, you know that this isn’t a decision that I can make for you. You have to be the one that makes the choice.”_

_“...”_

_“Listen. Right now, try not to think of what we want. Think of yourself. So, tell me: What exactly is your heart saying?”_

_“... Yes. It’s saying yes.”_

_“… I hope you find what you’re looking for.”_

_“Thanks. I hope you do, too.”_

**Author's Note:**

> my brain when i don't know how to end a fic: um i don't know have him cry or something
> 
> okay this ended up being a lot longer than i expected but there was just a lot about this concept i wanted to cover, and this was even when i decided i had to pick and choose a couple ideas... anyway, i hope you guys liked it! can't wait for nintendo to make this fic very dated when the game releases hahaha :')


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